Taking Off My Bra In The Bosses' Office

One of the first rules of blogging is:

Don't talk about bad things that happen at work.

Some people take this advice to heart while other bloggers write whatever they want to say regardless of the lawsuits that get slapped against them.

I think their main mistake is they identify the company and people by name.

Hello people! Why do you name names?

Didn't you learn anything from Watergate and Clintongate?

I once worked at a bra manufacturer that was owned by a man.

How's that for being vague?

Bra sales are good because women wear them to keep healthy circulation in the tissue of the boobs, sisters, gals, jugs, mama jamas or whatever you choose to call the breasts. Not only do women wear bras for the health reasons, but also to entice and turn men on sexually.

Woohoo!

I promise I won't talk about sex in this post.

Anyway, bra sales were great for this company. I worked in the accounting office and still reaped the benefits of reduced prices on products. Since I was a newly wed, the apparel was quite appreciated. That's a subject I'm sure my ex-husband would rather I not explore too in-depth. Let's just say it wasn't boring.

One day the boss man said that everyone was going to get a free bra and would have a custom fitting to ensure we were getting the right size for our breasts. Whippee! A free bra is a great surprise, however, my thrill was short lived.

The next day, one lady at a time took turns going into the appointed room for the fitting. The first woman in my department named Sally (names were changed to protect the innocent) finally came back after her fitting and said, "The boss is in the room the whole time."

The cute brunette named Paula, who was ten years her senior said, "Are you fitted over your clothes?"

With her eyes wide, Sally said with embarrassment, "No! I had to take off my shirt and bra while he sat there and watched the whole time!"

"You're kidding!" Paula exclaimed completely flustered.

"He told me to tell you it was your turn," Sally said to Paula with almost a hurt look on her face.

Paula had the biggest boobs I had ever seen and was my boob hero.

We all watched as Paula left the room.

The two men in the department glanced at Sally and quickly went back to work focusing on their paperwork. This was the era before computers, so it was a whole different work environment with all calculations being posted in fat books.

Looking down at the green ledger pages filled with neatly written numbers, I knew that I was next to have the bra fitting. Being newly married, money was really tight and I couldn't afford to lose my job.

The more I thought about the whole scenario, the angrier I got until I was filled with rage! No one except my doctor and husband had seen me naked and if I wanted to flaunt my boobs, then I definitely wasn't going to do it for my boss or for just a bra. So I decided that no matter what the consequence, the boss man was not going to see my boobs.

When Paula opened the door, both men turned around to stare at her like there was going to be a scarlet letter "B" for "boobs" emblazoned on her shirt. She looked at me briefly and said, "You're next," and then went over to Sally's desk and started whispering.

I looked at the two men and they stared at me with the look that said, "No way is she going to do this in front of the boss." I was wearing an outfit that was basically how I always dressed...gray slacks, gray suit coat, black shoes and a burgundy, white and gray turtleneck.

If you have ever had the pleasure of watching the movie, "Somethings Gotta Give" with Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton, you will remember that Diane's character always wore turtlenecks. Well, that woman was just an older me or maybe I was a younger her. I was ALWAYS covered. I NEVER showed any cleavage. The world couldn't even tell that I had boobs because my shirts were baggy and hid them!

While walking to the bosses' office I rehearsed what I would say to them if they asked me bare the boobs.

The lady, who was measuring and fitting the women for bras said, "Come in and close the door."

Okay. So far, so good.

The boss man gave me the up and down look which didn't bother me at all because he couldn't see a thing and I knew it!

The woman started telling me about the importance of having the proper sized bra and how the breast tissue should be COMPLETELY in the cup on the sides. Breast tissue that hangs outside the cup on the side doesn't get the proper circulation and research has shown that it can cause health problems.

I already knew all of this information. I had been working there long enough to hear everything I ever wanted to know about bras and breasts.

The ENTIRE time that I stood listening to her speech, the boss man watched me. I couldn't help but think about how perverted this man was to do this to all his female employees.

The bra fitter's informational speech seemed to last too long because I just wanted this experience to be over one way or the other. I was by far the youngest employee at this company and probably had the smallest boobs, but I was not going to be bullied by big boobs or a boss man who had boobs smaller than mine!

Finally, the bra fitter lady said, "So to get a proper fit, I must measure your breast without a bra on because it will give an inaccurate measurement, so please remove your shirt and bra."

My palms were sweaty and I was very nervous even though I was angry. At this point of my life, I was still quite shy and never very bold in my speaking.

I looked straight at my boss man and said, "I will not remove my shirt or my bra."

For one second there was shock on his face which brought me pure satisfaction, but he kept staring back at me.

The fitter lady looked at him for guidance, but his eyes never left mine as he said, "This is a requirement of the company."

"I work in the accounting office and do not directly come in contact with any of the customers. If you want me to have a bra, then you must leave the room because I'm not going to stand here with my bare boobs in front of you," I said without even taking a breath.

He actually looked angry when he spoke next saying, "Just measure her on top of all her clothes," making it very apparent that he thought I was wearing enough layers to survive in the North Pole.

Inside I was feeling extremely proud of myself, but I didn't even let the slightest smile cross my lips nor did my eyes leave his angry stare the entire time I was being fitted. The lady doing the measurements was extremely uncomfortable, but I was mad at her too for going along with such a shenanigan. It was female boob exploitation in the workplace!

With the measuring complete, the fitter lady reached into the box and pulled out a new lacy white bra and handed it to me without looking up from her clipboard of employee names.

"Thank you," I said and breaking the stare from the boss man, turned around with satisfaction that not only didn't he see my boobs, but he couldn't see my butt wiggle as I left because my coat was long enough to cover it!

I wonder if he still remembers me?

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A Day of Lace For Her

Lace.

The little four letter word conjures up visions of soft feminism.

Specifically, lace is an openworked fabric that has holes created in a pattern whether it be by hand or machine. When lace is made the thread is looped, twisted or braided to other threads independently from a backing fabric.

Today lace is used in everything to add to the femininity of the item. I love the look and feel of lace whether it is made of everything from silk to cotton. The only limitation in using lace is one's imagination.

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Do you like lace? What do you make or buy that incorporates lace?

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Cougar - Animal or Older Woman?

If you're a country music fan, I'm sure you've heard the song by the group Alabama that has a song with the lyrics, "Older women are beautiful lovers."


Keep that little tidbit of information in the back of your mind for a minute and I hope that I didn't just lose all the male readers to that first sentence.

How many times have we seen an older man with a younger woman? This has truly become a common sight and TOTALLY accepted.

Why is it so readily accepted?

Uhhh, I think it is because men rule the world and made the rule. The somewhat "official" reasoning has something to do with child bearing. Last night I saw a fifty-five year old woman have a baby, so how does THAT reason hold up?

(clearing my throat and smiling)

On the flip side, there is now actually a name for an older woman who dates a younger man and I'm not so sure I dig it. The name to which I refer is associated with a wild animal called a Cougar. Let's see if the aging woman in search for a younger man has anything in common with the Cougar animal.

Of course, this is purely based on my own very distinguished authority. I have a classy degree with coveted letters at the end of my name. You know, OWAWS.

You haven't heard of that before?

It stands for Older Woman Aging With Style

The Redhead Riter, OWAWS

Looks really good, doesn't it?

Anyway, let's get back to my scientific comparison.

The Cougar animal vs. the Cougar OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style) is as follows...

The animal is the second heaviest cat in the American continents. --- Hello! I do not want to be thought of as getting older and fatter even if it is true. We are skipping this particular comparison. What's the next one? Hmph!

The animal is a stalk-and-ambush predator. --- I have to admit that there are some older women who have this trait and find it acceptable with the reason that "I'm not getting any younger." Sorry, but I have not ever succumbed to this technique. I believe that in my older age, I'm actually getting better in many ways. Besides, the only thing I stalk-and-ambush is the vanilla bean ice cream in my freezer.

The animal is territorial. --- I have to say, "Well, duh!" No, I do not like sharing my man with another older woman or most especially a YWAQ (Young Woman Aging Quickly). My motto is simply, "Keep your paws and any other body parts to yourself and remained covered in my man's presence."

Wild. --- My mother taught me that "There is a time and place for everything." Obviously, she knew what she was talking about because she's my mother! I am wild at appropriate times and it most definitely isn't in public.

The animal is reclusive, solitary and usually avoids people. --- Now if this was true about the older woman who dates younger men, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. The beautiful and intelligent aging woman has already learned the art of socializing and is usually quite adept at holding her own in a crowd. She only avoids people when there is just enough ice cream left in her freezer for one big bowl. She has shared ice cream enough times in her past and no longer feels the inclination to do so any more.

The animal is most active at dawn and dusk. --- I can truly relate! It takes me a little while to get going and lubricate the arthritic joints, so by the time the sun sets, I'm ripping and raring to go. Maybe I have a little bit of werewolf in me because when the moon appears in the sky, I feel so alive!

Lone hunters. --- Some women hunt and prowl in groups while others prefer to eliminate the possibility that one of her friends will attract more male attention thus leaving her high and dry, metaphorically speaking. I might be a rare breed amongst women because I do not hunt alone or in groups. In my case, the man has always hunted me. Personally, the whole hunting, dating scene is just not my cup of hot chocolate. Mmmmmm, hot chocolate with marshmallows by a fireplace. Is it winter yet?

Cougars have retractable claws on its forepaws and hind paws. --- I don't know how the animals take care of their claws in the wild, but there is a definite place that women, old and young alike, go to sharpen and paint their claws. It is called a nail salon and the experience is relaxing and peaceful. Although my nails may be kept quite short, they definitely can leave a mark. You can take that whichever way you desire. Hopefully I don't lose the rest of the men who made it to this point.

The animal will vocalize by using low-pitched hisses, growls, and purrs, as well as chirps and whistles. They are well known for their screams. --- I must refer back to my mother's quote above. As an OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style), I rather produce purrs and have males whistle preferably at me. I have been known to hiss and growl when angered, but to date, I truly can not ever remember chirping unless I was playing with small children.

Cougars are best adapted for short, powerful sprints rather than long chases. --- I am not into multiple relationships, one right after the next. I prefer a pleasant and solid relationship that will last all the way to the coffin and hopefully beyond. Women who wish to be a true OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style) need to understand that hopping from one man to the next, especially when sex is in the picture, usually gets them called names that are not becoming to my blog, my ears or your eyes.

The animal will eat any animal it can catch such as various deer species, sheep, horses, cattle and even large moose. --- Desperate. That is the perfect descriptive word for this type of woman. It does not, however, appropriately describe an OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style with the emphasis on STYLE). I must admit that I find large moose extremely appealing and have stopped to gawk at them on many occasions.

Though capable of sprinting, the cougar is typically an ambush predator. It stalks through brush and trees, across ledges, or other covered spots, before delivering a powerful leap onto the back of its prey and a suffocating neck bite. --- Let me get this straight, neck bites are considered bad to the general public? Ummm, in my world, neck bites or nibbles are quite lovely and when given can be quite sensuous. As far as sprinting, ambushing and the stalking thing goes, I really don't want to waste that much time hiding. I believe in the male seeking me out and preferably in a straightforward manner. I seriously do not have time to pretend like I don't want you interested in me.

Female cougars are sometimes reported as monogamous, but this is uncertain and polygamy may be more common. --- Well, if you are an OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style) living in the United States, polygamy is definitely against the law. Besides, refer above to the part about being territorial. There is one exception to this rule that I wish was accepted and legal. I'm sure it would be widely unpopular from a man's point of view, but personally, I would love to have seven husbands. Let's see, one to cook and grocery shop, one to clean and decorate, three to work and support the rest of us, one to do the outside chores, and one to help me accomplish my goals. Doesn't that just sound lovely? Oh, I bet you're thinking about the sex part. Well, there ARE seven days in the week now isn't there?

Copulation for a cougar is brief but frequent. --- Unfortunately, this is true far too often for women in general, but it isn't because that is their desire! It is largely due to a man's physical limitations unless he is young and virile or older and taking Viagra.


Female cougars are fiercely protective of their kittens. --- Yeah! If you mess with the offspring of any Mama, whether she is an OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style) or a YWAQ (Young Woman Aging Quickly), all I can say is "You better watch out because 'fiercely protective' is an understatement!"

Cougars use scrape marks, urine, and feces to mark territory and attract mates. Males may scrape together a small pile of leaves and grasses and then urinate on it as a way of marking territory. --- All this time I thought that men were messing up when using the toilet when in fact, they were simply letting it be know that it was truly their throne. With regards to women, if any OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style) use anything stronger than perfume to be noticed by a man, I don't know ANYTHING about it. I have, however, smelled the mild scent of moth balls on a woman's coat, but I'm sure it wasn't intentional.

The World Conservation Union (IUCN) currently lists the cougar as a "least concern" species. --- You can say that again! If there is anyone who is appreciated less than an OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style), I sure don't know about it. I think an OWAWS is totally devalued just because we no longer have the skin or curves of a twenty year old. Society totally misses the fact that we have wisdom, wit and have polished our personalities. Besides, I think Alabama also added a very important aspect to the whole reason that older women seek the companionship of young, energetic men (refer back to my very first sentence of the post).

Remember, I am speaking of OWAWS (Older Woman Aging With Style) in general.

What is my opinion in calling single OWAWS who date younger men cougars? I don't like it! The name is too predatory and who wants to really be seen as a predator? What do you think...Is it a fitting nickname or not for a woman who dates younger men?



Your resident Older Woman Aging With Style



Purr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r




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It's Best To Be Naked When It's Hot

Oh my goodness!

I believe that there are some experiences in life that can not be explained with words or pictures. Although an explanation might thoroughly cover the topic, the full thrust is never quite conveyed. Those are the moments that one must experience first hand in order to fully appreciate all that it encompasses.

Redheads are in the minority. Some people actually hate red hair, so I guess it is lucky for them that they don't have to see that many redheads. I know quite a bit about being a redhead since it is one of those things that I experience first hand every day of my life.

Usually a redhead has fair skin that won't tan and thus the title of PALE also accompanies them throughout their life. Once again, that is my curse and if you looked like I do at the beach, you would think it was a curse too. I have a great attitude about it most of the time and have even incorporated my paleness into my nickname. The way I look at it now is that I rather have pale skin than not have any skin at all. Have you ever thought of it that way? I bet not probably because you are tan, but that's okay....Some day my freckles are all going to have a reunion and I'm going to have a tan index finger.

There are many reasons for being hot and in the summer months when the temperatures are soaring into the triple digits, it just makes it more uncomfortable if there are other things that are adding to the heat too. For example, pregnant women are carrying an extra amount of weight with a huge hormonal orchestra going on in their body, so adding sweltering heat to the mix isn't very pleasant. Just thinking about being pregnant at all during this stage of my life causes my temperature to blast to the top of the thermometer.

At the end of July, the temperature has been almost more than I could tolerate. If it wasn't for a great air conditioner at work and home, I would surely just not make it through the day.

I am the ultimate pale skinned, redheaded wimp with allergies, the inability to sweat, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (Make sure you read that the way Yul Brenner said it in the movie The King and I. You can go back and try it again. I'll wait for you.)

Being a bit older has afforded me time to learn all kinds of things. In preparation for the winter of my life, I've read all about menopause. Parts of it sound just maaaaa-rvelous darrrr-ling, but other aspects of that great change seem rather dreadful! I'm choosing to dwell on the positive, however, last night it was rather difficult to think about anything except the heat.

I usually fall asleep in thirty seconds which aggravates everyone. I haven't totally figured that one out yet. I was blogging in my Terrier pajamas my sister gave me (I'm no vision from Victoria Secret that's for sure) and enjoying the lovely air conditioning as the weatherman on television proclaimed that we lived through a scorcher. I personally think the word wasn't strong enough, but my mother told me not to say the words I'd like to use.

Finally, it was bedtime and I plopped into bed, closed my eyes and knew that sleep was about to pull me into the soft flowing folds of oblivion. Much to my surprise, I felt hot (not like passionate or gorgeous), but hot like I was going to spontaneously combust! Heat permeated the cloth of my pajamas and the sheets. I ripped the blankets off and sat up thinking I was about to be sick.

Nope. I wasn't nauseated at all. I was just hot and I mean hot like the inside of the lava core found at the center of the Earth. The heat waves were spewing off my skin like a volcanic eruption times one hundred.

As I tore my pajamas off in a frenzy to release some of the unbearable heat, I decided that I hate men. That gender not only doesn't suffer years of a "friend" that totally wrecks every special occasion, but they snore through the atomic heat bomb women suffer when their friend decides she doesn't like or need you any more.

There I lay, emitting enough heat to peel the paint off the ceiling over my bed and wishing that the overhead fan generated enough wind to blow the blankets completely off the bed, totally naked.

Since the heat was emanating from the inside out, I knew there was only one way I was going to find any relief at all.

It's best to be naked in bed, eating ice cream that has been slathered with chocolate syrup and whipped cream, when the furnace within you is hot enough to keep Canada, Denmark and Siberia warm in the winter .




Your Menopausal Maven,

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Ways to Relax #8 - Bubblegum and Candy Apple

I believe there are some things every woman should experience at least once in their lifetime.

When I was the General Manager of a hotel, I worked eighty hours a week and never stopped moving the whole time I was in the building. It was an extremely stressful job, but once a week for about a year, I would take my lunch hour and get a manicure with my dear friend Mary.

It was truly the one thing that I did just for myself...literally.

When I changed careers, it was no longer convenient to go at lunch and my nails took an unsatisfactory back seat. Instead, I had to be happy painting them in the middle of the night and leaving my hands hanging off the bed to prevent blanket marks. How many times do you think that didn't work?

Sometimes I still take the time to pamper myself and that was the case tonight.

Alyssa and I both had our nails manicured. We chatted with the nail tech and each other as the stresses and problems of the day drifted away with the soft music and trickling waterfall. Not only is it a wonderful experience for an hour having my nails prettied up and being with my daughter, but the lovely moment continues for at least a week because I feel better with feminine, well manicured nails.

My #8 way to relax is to have a manicure or pedicure in a relaxing environment.

Alyssa chose "Bubblegum" nail polish with acrylic nails...


Of course, I forgot to have Alyssa take a picture of my manicure before she continued her evening with a long bath. With a lovely computer keyboard as my backdrop, I took the photo of "Candy Apple" nail polish on my real nails...


No one can comment about the contrast in Alyssa's lovely tan and my glow in the dark skin. Sometimes I just can't believe I got ripped off with the tan gene!

Oh, I almost forgot...My mother hasn't ever experienced the loveliness of a manicure at a nail salon...EVER. So Mom, if you don't give in to this lovely experience before Christmas, guess what Santa will be putting in your stocking?

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Women, Got Cramps?

Obviously, women have had cramps during "that" unpopular time each month. Supposedly, Dr. Bradfield's Female Regulator fixed every symptom imaginable in the 1800's! I wonder what else was in the bottle because the only ingredient listed on the label was the presence of 15% alcohol. So let's see if I follow the logic...

Every month, a woman becomes hard to live with (Ladies, you know this is true) because she's in pain due to something that is totally beyond her control (Well worth the price for giving birth to beautiful babies). Not all women suffer this affliction, but enough do to warrant a remedy. That's when you take some of Dr. Bradfield's Female Regulator and get tipsy enough to take the edge off the pain.

Miracle!

The best part of all is that you can do it in the privacy of your own home "away from the eyes of a physician" because no one wants to see you getting drunk if you decide to take more than the directed amount.

Haven't we come a long way?

I'm not so sure that some doctors have changed at all.

When I was nineteen years old, I had a doctor tell me that my "cramps" were all in my head. Did you just gasp? Well, it is the truth and I would tell you his name, but I might get sued for slander. I did, however, tell everyone for the past twenty eight years this story and I always include his name. I think of it as my little form of justice. I wouldn't have spent all that time sharing the incident except that at nineteen I was naive enough to think that he might actually be right because he was a DOCTOR. My mother assured me that he was not correct and that is when I finally took responsibility of my health.

Thank you Mom.

The next time a "doctor" diagnoses you or gives you a "medication" to help you, do not believe every word without doing your own research. The person that knows your body the best is YOU! Be responsible for your health by asking intelligent questions after researching your symptoms or condition. Doctor's need your input so that they can use their knowledge to help you There are many really excellent physicians that help millions every day.

Remember that YOU are your body's best advocate.

Otherwise, you may just be taking some of Dr. Bradfield's concoctions from someone who only sees you as a few more dollars added to his wallet. After all, doctors are human too and not all of them are honest or good at practicing medicine.

***"He" and "His" are used to represent men and women alike.

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The Little Red Hen (The Redhead Riter)

Do you know the story of the Little Red Hen? It is an old folk tale that was turned into a children's book by Little Golden Books in the 1940's and is one of my all time favorite books. Well, if you haven't heard it, the brief version with its application to me today follows:

There was a Little Red Hen (The Redhead Riter) who found a grain of wheat (dust bunnies and clutter) and wanted to bake bread (clean the house spotlessly), but she knew she couldn't do it all alone so she asked her animal friends (family) to help.

At each stage of harvesting, threshing, milling the wheat into flour, and baking the flour into bread (cleaning the windows, baseboards, air conditioning vents, kitchen counters, polishing the kitchen cabinets, polishing the wood furniture, keeping the washer and dryer going, vacuuming, scrubbing the floors) the hen asks for help from the other animal friends (family), but each time she doesn't get any assistance (Tom put in a light bulb and then took a nap. Alyssa stayed with the puppy who threw up because we think she ate carpet and then took a nap).

Finally when the little Little Red Hen (The Redhead Riter) completes all the tasks and bakes delicious bread (homemade spaghetti), she asks if anyone will help her eat it.

"I will!" said the cow.
"I will!" said the pig (Tom).
"I will!" said the goat.
"I will!" said the teenage Moose (Alyssa).
"I will!" said the duck.

"No you won't!" said the Little Red Hen.

"I will!" And she did.

Well, that is where the story is different because I did let Tom and Alyssa eat my delicious dinner.



I was the lucky one to get the bay leaf. Don't you hate it when that happens?!


In spite of my uncommon lethargy, I was determined to accomplish all my tasks today. "And I did!" said The Redhead Riter.

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Chuckle of the Day - Women Only

This is what happens when women
driving on the interstate
hear an announcement on the radio
that there is a one hour shoe sale...starting now!

Some of the women make it to the store,
but the parking lot doesn't look much better.

I made fun of women drivers today because
I saw this on my way to work...

It takes 8,460 bolts
to assemble an automobile,
and one nut
to scatter it all over the road.

Don't be the nut!

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The Prayer of Women

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my shape to keep.



Please no wrinkles, Please no bags
And please lift my butt before it sags.




Please no age spots, Please no gray
And as for my belly, Please take it away




Please keep me healthy, Please keep me young,
And thank you Dear Lord, For all that you've done.

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